


Oh My God, They Were Soulmates

by wingdinger



Series: Soulmate AU - Persona Sharing [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bittersweet Ending, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingdinger/pseuds/wingdinger
Summary: Soulmate AU in which persona users can summon the personas of their soulmate. Reciprocation doesn't make their relationship any less complicated.Spoilers for Persona 5 vanilla and Persona 5 Royal.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Soulmate AU - Persona Sharing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033473
Comments: 20
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read [And They Were Soulmates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131471/chapters/63572152) before reading this. This fic is a direct continuation and will make more sense if you've read the first part! Persona 5 and Persona 5 Royal Spoilers from the get-go.
> 
> Title and soulmates AU idea from [unfunny-quips on tumblr](https://unfunny-quips.tumblr.com/post/623125265193811968/hiding-these-god-tier-ideas-in-the-tags-is-an).
> 
> Guess who's back, back again. Goro's back, call Arsene.

Prior to moving to Tokyo, Akira had prepared for culture shock, rumors, and unpleasant classmates. He had ran through numerous worst case scenarios in his head, and had believed, with his quick thinking and determination, that he could overcome any that would come his way. 

Shooting a belligerent god to save humanity as the leader of a notorious vigilante team had not been among those scenarios.

Mementos spits them out shortly after it and Morgana fade out of existence.

Akira feels like he just managed to catch his breath before his friends leave one by one to deal with each of their own personal affairs.

He thinks he should probably sit down, give himself some time to process the events of the last twenty-four hours, but his legs stay rooted to the spot. He sighs and watches the mist from his breath dissipate into the cold air.

Of all the ways he had imagined his year in Tokyo to have gone, he could've never predicted what actually ended up happening.

He thought he’d keep his head low, work some part-time jobs, make a couple of friends, maybe even get a girlfriend--

Akechi had really thrown a spanner in the works. Not only had he forced Akira to participate in a complicated ruse to narrowly escape death, but he had also contributed to his realization that he could be attracted to boys as well.

Very attracted, in fact.

Then he had to go off and sacrifice himself. And with mementos gone, the one evidence of their connection has disappeared as well.

Akira stares at the sky listlessly, contemplating on whether he should spend the rest of the evening alone wallowing in guilt. His lips twist into a sardonic smile. Akechi would probably mock him for being so weak-hearted if he saw him now.

He scrubs at his eyes and pulls out his phone, intending to text Ryuji to ask if they can hang out, when Sae approaches him.

“I didn’t expect to find the world’s savior alone on Christmas Eve,” she says, humor lacing her words. Akira schools his expression to what he hopes is less manic than how he feels.

Considering the fact Sae then asks him to walk into a guaranteed sentencing, Akira thinks he deserves some credit for managing to keep his cool.

Enduring torture, losing someone he cared about, which had felt like his entire body was being ripped in two-- they had to leave Shido’s palace immediately after with Haru and Makoto carrying him as he curled in on himself-- witnessing what he thought were the deaths of his friends, and taking down a god in an apocalyptic hellscape apparently is not enough for whatever cosmic force decided to treat his life like a squeeze toy.

Just another day in Tokyo, he supposes.

He’s about to answer in affirmative, but a voice he’d only heard in his dreams for the past three weeks stops him cold.

“There’s no need for that.”

If Sae wasn’t in front of him and stricken with bewilderment, he would have believed he'd had imagined the voice. “You…” she says.

“If they get their hands on the perpetrator, there’ll be no need for him to turn himself in, no?” Akechi says, endearingly pompous as Akira remembers.

“Goro, you’re alive,” Akira breathes, heart beating so rapidly it hurts. His fingers twitch in his pockets. The desire to touch, to wrap his arms around those shoulders in a tight embrace, overwhelms him.

He curls his hands inward, nails pressing through his jeans to leave indents on his skin. If it’s an illusion, he doesn’t want to risk shattering it with a careless impulse.

The all too familiar camera-ready smile adorns his face-- diminutive, pleasant, but now appearing as fragile as glass. “That appears to be the case,” he says, as if escaping death was a minor event in his everyday life.

Well, Akira admits he doesn’t have the best standing to berate Akechi for that.

Sae tilts her head in curiosity. “I didn’t realize you two were close.”

“There were unforeseen circumstances,” Akechi responds breezily. “I’ll agree to testify against Shido and his crimes.” Then, to Akira, “I assume that works for you?”

The push pull had been entertaining, maybe even cute, when the thrill of being a phantom thief overshadowed any drama he had encountered in his civilian life.

But after believing his friend, his _soulmate_ , to be dead, and grieving while simultaneously bearing the fate of the world on his shoulders in the span of only a few weeks, Akira’s run out of patience to play along in their game.

“You’re turning yourself in?” he says.

“It’s simply personal principles that I repay my debts.”

The minute Akechi decides to reveal he’s been alive all along, he’s offering to turn himself in. Akira thought he was supposed to be the joker around here.

“No,” he says.

Akechi’s smile falters just a bit. Then it’s up again, somehow even more sugary fake than before. “No?” he echoes.

“I thought you were dead,” Akira says as softly as the snow falling around them. He takes his hands out of his pockets and reaches for him, jolting back once he realizes what he’s doing. They fall to his side and clench against the biting cold.

“Please,” he says.

Please what, he wonders. Please explain yourself? Please stop smiling like that?

Please don’t leave again?

Akechi blinks slowly. “Could you give us some time?”

Sae looks between them.

“We can trust him,” Akira says, nodding once.

She crosses her arms. “Fine, you can turn yourself in tomorrow. Don’t make me regret this.” She levels a stern look at Akira before briskly walking away.

Once she’s a fair distance away, Akechi turns back to Akira with a rattling sigh. Instantly, the picture perfect image fades. His smile melts away into a grimace, and his eyes narrow to resemble sharply cut garnets with a dangerous glint.

Akira had seen mere glimpses of this side of Akechi prior to infiltrating Shido’s palace. The occasional moments when he slipped and lashed out had spurred on his curiosity. Only when he had revealed himself as Black Mask had it felt like Akira was seeing the real Akechi.

He likes it more than he probably should.

Despite the harshness to his features, Akechi’s hand is gentle when it grabs onto his. He turns it over, clicking his tongue after examining it. “I knew you’d be a sentimental fool,” he mutters.

Akira tries to keep himself from smiling and fails immediately. He may have been the one to ask Yusuke to draw the ace of spades on his hand again as a sort of memento before they had faced Shido. He may have used it as a reminder, a source of strength, when they had faced Yaldabaoth.

He may be a sentimental fool, but, apparently, so is Akechi.

“You caught me. Mind telling me why you needed to check?”

“It’s none of your concern.” Akechi rubs his thumb over the symbol, and then stops abruptly and drops his hand. “Well?” he says expectantly.

Emboldened by the physical contact, however brief, Akira steps closer until their breaths are mingling. Thankfully, Akechi lets him. 

“It’s good to see you,” Akira says softly.

“Hmm, I admit I am quite pleased to see you too.” Akechi taps his chin in thought. “But, I doubt that’s the only reason you kept me here.”

Akira decides to test the waters and places his hand on Akechi’s arm. He flinches for a moment but doesn’t brush off his hand. Akira counts that as a win.

“Don’t turn yourself in,” he says.

Akechi scoffs. “What, so you can instead? I don’t need your pity.”

“Wanting a better life for you isn’t pity.”

He keeps his hand on Akechi’s arm, squeezes it lightly, feels his heart skip a beat when the latter places his own hand over it.

He’d always let Akechi determine the amount of physical affection between them during their relationship, if he could even call it that, turbulent as it had been. But the relief of seeing him alive has scrambled his thinking.

He prepares for his hand to be swatted away, for Akechi to shut him out, but Akechi surprises him by squeezing his hand back and interlacing their fingers.

An illusion can’t feel this real. Akira is mere seconds away from making the best or worst decision of the night.

“How can I convince you to not go?” he asks, trying to keep his urges at bay.

An attempt that fizzles out when Akechi takes their interlaced hands and places them on his cheek, shifting just so to kiss into Akira’s palm.

“How indeed?” His lips graze his wrist with each word. “I suppose--”

Akira surges up against him, muffling his words with a hard kiss. For a moment, he’s in heaven, soft lips move and part with a shaky sigh, tongue sliding and pressing against his own with a matched fervor.

Then Akechi pulls back, leaving cold air between them. Akira steps in closer, chasing the warmth like a moth to a flame, but he’s forced to meet Akechi’s narrowed eyes by a firm grip on his chin.

“We’re in public, Akira,” Akechi says, reddened lips pulled into an unconvincing frown.

Akira can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “So? I didn’t think you’d still care about your detective prince image,” he says.

Hand keeping Akira in place, Akechi leans in, cheek brushing along Akira’s as he speaks softly into his ear. “The things I want to do to you right now would get me arrested for indecency.”

Akira shudders. He scans the area and notices the curious, affronted looks from passerbys. “Your place?”

The tight grip on his chin transfers to his wrist, and only months of having to be light on his feet while traversing palaces keeps him from stumbling as Akechi weaves them through the crowd of people. Each time they bump into someone in their rush, Akechi pays them no attention while Akira gives quick apologies coated in laughter.

Their destination isn’t far. Figures. An assassin previously employed by a rising politician would be able to afford a luxury apartment in the heart of Shibuya.

Akira barely registers the receptionists sitting at the front desk of the lobby, bright lights and glistening marble flooring blinding him as Akechi pulls him insistently to the elevators.

He presses up against Akechi the second the doors close, snickering at the exasperated huff that tickles his ear. A hand lands on his back and keeps him in place while Akechi reaches around him to select the floor to his apartment.

Soft hair clings to his cheek as he trails kisses up his neck. He nuzzles into it when Akechi’s tell-tale blush appears. It’s cute how red it makes Akechi’s face glow, especially when the latter tries to maintain a calm temperament.

He can’t help himself from breathing in deeply.

It’s his perfume, the one that Akira had gifted him on one of their many outings at Jazz Jin, and a scent that he can’t describe but is so distinctly Akechi.

It’s really him. He’s real.

Akira exhales, smiling widely when he’s met with a full body shudder in response. The temptation to bite, to mark Akechi’s neck builds, and he’s opening his mouth, teeth bared, when the elevator door opens and Akechi all but drags him out through the hall.

Akira puffs out a short laugh, honestly he doesn’t know when he’ll stop feeling so giddy, walking backwards as elegantly as a newborn fawn taking its first steps.

He wouldn't be opposed to being manhandled for the rest of the night he thinks as he’s propped up against a door.

There’s the sound of rapid beeping behind him as Akechi punches in the passcode for his lock. Akira snorts in disbelief. With the affluence of its residents, the staff should think to have higher security. He didn’t need to be a phantom thief to know--

The door swings open under his weight. He gasps as he falls backwards. A hand slips behind his head and lessens the impact from crashing to the floor.

“Trying to kill me for real this time?” he wheezes, grinning dazedly up at the prettily flushed face glowering over him.

“Shut the hell up,” Akechi growls and kicks the door shut behind them. He settles between Akira’s legs, rucking his shirt up with the other hand. “How in the world are you this _warm_ wearing such thin clothes?”

“First you tell me to shut up,” Akira’s breath comes out shorter the higher Akechi’s hand climbs up, “then you ask a question. Always giving me mixed signals.”

They haven’t even taken their shoes off, the realization occuring to Akira when he shifts his legs up.

His brain is just catching up to process that Akechi is heavier than he looks, new knowledge that turns him on more than he would have thought, when Akechi’s hand reaches a nipple and rubs slow, small circles over it. The sensation from his leather gloves leaves him squirming, and he yelps at a hard pinch.

“It was a rhetorical question, dear,” Akechi says with a vicious smile that is all teeth.

Akira groans, yanks him down, and bites high up his neck. The hand behind his head grasps at his hair and tugs in warning, but it only encourages him to keep nipping, sucking, licking--

His lips make a soft smacking noise when Akechi pulls his head back. The sheen of saliva on his neck makes the newly formed dark red mark appear as if it’s glittering in the light.

Akira wants to bite again, to latch onto another part of that unmarked territory, but Akechi tightens his grip on his hair and stops him short.

A whine escapes from his throat, needy and insistent, before stuttering into short gasps when Akechi grinds down onto his erection.

“I’d prefer not to have any evidence of our activities together for Sae to see tomorrow,” he growls, punctuating the statement with another hard roll of his hips.

“Then don't,” Akira chokes out. He shudders at the frankly lethal combination of hands twisting in his hair and scrabbling at his chest and the desperate way Akechi is rutting against him. “Don’t go."

Akechi’s face falls, eyes shining with budding tears. Akira takes his cheeks in his hands and rubs under his eyes to wipe away the wet streaks. “Akechi, we can figure it out.”

The laugh that bursts out from above him is more of a sob. “When you say it like that, it makes me want to believe you,” Akechi says and leans down for a slow kiss.

Akira closes his eyes and sighs into it, scratching lightly at Akechi’s scalp. His head is lowered gently to the floor, and he hears something land flatly next to him. He’s just about to check what may have fallen but a cool hand down his pants simultaneously answers his question and calls attention to more important things.

Akechi watches him intently as he pumps him. Akira moans softly and moves his hands to unbutton Akechi’s blazer.

“Don’t,” Akechi says.

Akira pauses, looks up at him. “Don’t?”

Akechi shakes his head, hair dancing delicately with the movement. “Not yet.” He dips down and bites and sucks at his neck while pumping faster and faster.

A strangled moan escapes Akira’s throat, and he loops his arms around Akechi’s neck and clutches on as if his life depends on it. His hips buck upwards, bumping into the bulge in Akechi’s pants.

“Akechi--”

“Goro,” Akechi hisses. “Call me Goro. You-- ah-- did before.”

“G-Goro. I’m going to,” Akira pants, swallows, “I’m going to come if you keep--”

He whimpers at the slick tongue tracing the shell of his ear. “Then come already,” he says hoarsely and Akira is shaking wildly, uncontrollably, as his orgasm is milked out of him.

Catching his breath, Akira blinks slowly and stares at the ceiling. Soft kisses tickle his neck and bring him down from his high.

He twists his head over to gaze into his eyes and groans as Akechi removes his hand from his pants. “Goro, let me-- you still--” he starts.

“It’s fine.”

“What? No, let me--”

Akechi extricates himself from Akira’s legs and takes off his shoes. He opens a door down the hallway, reaches in, and throws a towel at Akira.

“You can use that to clean yourself up,” he says before stepping fully into what Akira assumes is the bathroom and closing the door.

A second passes and the door opens and Akechi’s head pops out. “Stay. For the night,” he says and retreats into the bathroom again.

Stunned, Akira takes a moment to process the turn of events. He makes to get up, go knock on the bathroom door and get some kind of explanation from Akechi, but the congealing cum in his boxers brings him to a screeching halt.

Right.

By the time he’s gotten the worst of it wiped off, Akechi is stepping out of the bathroom and into another room down the hallway. Akira stands up, feeling awkward clutching the soiled towel, and finally takes in his surroundings.

While Leblanc’s attic is small and not entirely meant to fit a living human being, Akira has managed to make it feel like his own space-- filled with various knick-knacks and memories from Phantom Thieves meetings.

In contrast, Akechi’s apartment is sparse, occupied only with the necessary furniture to convince visitors that it is in fact inhabited. Akira takes off his shoes and wanders into the living room. A large cream colored couch faces a flat screen TV mounted on a white wall. The coffee table between them has documents and a pen scattered on top.

He’s tempted to step into the connected kitchen and investigate Akechi’s eating habits, but the boy in question emerges from the hallway with clothes draped over his arm.

Akechi hands them to Akira. “You can take a bath before me. First door to the right. I’ll put your clothes in the wash.”

“You aren’t going to join me?”

Akechi laughs. “We’d never get clean.”

“That doesn't sound too bad.”

He’s steered towards the bathroom and left alone.

Everything is neatly in place and looks like they belong in the latest issue of a home decor magazine. If Akira wasn’t so used to wandering into places he didn’t belong, he’d feel uncomfortable disturbing the arrangement of the room.

He slinks in easily, places the clothes Akechi lent him on an open spot on a shelf, opens every drawer and cabinet, and runs his hands over every product he can find. There are bottles of face cleanser, toner, hand and face cream, concealer, and other things that aren’t important because he’s found the perfumes.

He places them on the counter to admire, and is pleased to see that the one he had bought for Akechi is half empty while the others only have a sliver of liquid missing.

He stows them back in the cabinet he found them in. He undresses, tosses his clothes in the hamper, places his phone on the counter, and cleans and wrings out the small towel as much as possible before dropping it in the hamper as well.

It isn’t until he enters the bathing area, which has steam billowing lazily across the room, and sits on the stool near the showerhead to clean himself that he realizes how exhausted he is. 

He grimaces at the amount of dirt he scrubs off. Akechi really touched him, sweaty and grimy after what felt like hours in the metaverse, willingly and enthusiastically.

While his relationship with Akechi couldn’t be described as ‘normal’, he had hoped for a less frantic, adrenaline-filled encounter in which they finally addressed their feelings for each other.

But, considering everything they’ve gone through, jumping on the first opportunity to resolve their sexual frustrations is far from the worst way he could have reacted to the revelation of Akechi’s survival.

He pours the bucket of water over his head and pushes his hair up and away from his eyes. He slides into the bathtub, sighing deeply as the hot water melts the tension out of his body.

After a few minutes, unable to trust himself to stay awake if he stays in any longer, he climbs out.

There are sounds from the living room when he steps out. Akechi sits ramrod straight, watching the news with an entirely too serious expression.

“I’m done,” Akira says, jolting Akechi out of his seat.

“That was quick.”

Akira shrugs. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His hands feel heavy at his sides. He wishes Akechi’s pajamas had pockets.

“I was correct to assume my clothes would fit you,” Akechi says, the fond smile causing Akira’s heart to beat harder. “We seem to be the same size after all.”

“They’re a bit loose on me.” Akira pulls at the drawstrings on his pants. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Akechi coughs quietly and tucks his hair behind his ear. “Well, it’s hardly ideal, but we can check the convenience stores nearby for food after I bathe. Of course I can lend you clothes more appropriate--”

“Goro,” Akira says and grabs his hand. Akechi tenses but Akira barrels on. “We should talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

Where to even start.

“Don’t play dumb,” Akira says instead, “not with me.”

As if a switch has been flipped on, Akechi regards Akira with cool indifference as he snatches his hand away and rubs his fingers together. “There’s nothing to ‘talk’ about. I’m turning myself in. That would be justice.”

“Are you hearing yourself?”

“Are you?” Akechi snaps. “Why must you be so insistent?”

If Akira had less self-restraint, he’d be entering a shouting match. He winds the drawstrings around his fingers.

“They’ll consider you an accomplice. I won’t be considered innocent, but they at least can’t charge me with murder.”

“So what.”

Akira takes a deep breath to calm himself. “So I have a chance at a temporary sentence.”

Akechi stares him down, eyes narrowed into a scowl. “A chance isn’t a guarantee. Don’t be idiotic.”

The last bit of energy drains out of Akira. He runs his hand through his damp hair. “Can we not do this? I’m not looking for a fight.”

Akechi’s shoulders drop just slightly. “I admit I reacted strongly,” he says with a sigh. There’s a weariness in his posture, as if he’s ready to bolt out of his own apartment if it means stopping Akira from testifying to the police.

“Why don’t we have dinner? I imagine we may be more irritable from hunger.”

He probably should have taken the offer from the beginning. “Works for me.”

“Alright then. I’ll wash up and then we can go. I won’t be long.” Akechi raises an eyebrow. “Can I trust you won’t run off?”

“In these?”

Rather than deign to respond, Akechi walks past him with a playful brush of his shoulder.

Once the bathroom door clicks shut, Akira settles into the spot Akechi had previously been sitting. He drapes his towel over a pillow before laying his head onto it, and curls into the warmth still present on the seat.

A few minutes in, and he’s the most relaxed he’s been all night.

The newscaster’s steady voice slowly lulls him into a half-awake state. Akira feels himself melting into the couch, eyes drooping further and further down with each second.

He thinks he’ll get the tonkatsu bento box.

\--------------------------------------

Light hits his eyelids; Akira slowly blinks awake. He feels warm. A comfortable weight covers him from chest to toe.

It’s morning.

Akira bolts upright, causing the plush comforter to slide down his waist. He scans the room and quickly notices his clothes folded into a neat pile next to his phone on the bedside table. A glaringly yellow post-it sits atop it.

_I’ve made my decision and will_

_be meeting with Sae to testify._

_Do_ _NOT_ _try to chase me and_

 _absolutely do_ _NOT_ _wait for me._

_There’s a spare toothbrush in the_

_bathroom. The front door locks_

_automatically._

Akira very gently places the post-it on the table. A scream lodges in his throat as he falls back into the bed, palms digging into his eyes. He turns onto his side and wraps his arms around his chest as he wills himself to calm down.

Eventually, he gets up, changes into his clothes, and brushes his teeth. He checks his phone and sees numerous notifications fill the screen. The sound had been turned off.

He flicks it back on, rubbing his brow in frustration for forgetting his phone in the bathroom the night before. Unable to easily let things go, he takes the post-it with him too when he leaves the silent apartment.

\--------------------------------------

Akira didn’t expect his friends to be rushing in to bail Akechi out, but he hadn’t expected the sheer apathy they had all reacted with either. After their attempt at recruiting Akechi in Shido’s palace, Akira had thought there would be _some_ reaction to his return and immediate imprisonment.

Even the usual amount of messages he receives on a day-to-day basis has decreased heavily. He knows he needs to get better at texting first, but the sudden collective drop in communication seems uncalled for.

Then Futaba and Haru mention their parents as if they’re still alive. Then Akira wakes up with an apparent human version of Morgana. _Then_ a woman referred to as Wakaba casually speaks to him and the others as if her presence is normal, and Akira is pretty sure he’s starting to go insane.

The bell above Leblanc’s entrance chimes, and Akira scratches out the insanity theory and replaces it with a ‘weird dream he doesn't want to wake out of yet’ theory.

Akechi, looking unfairly nice dressed in a nerdy sweater vest and coat, appraises the scene in the cafe.

“Sorry, we haven't opened for the day yet,” Sojiro says.

Akechi's smile is careful, polite. It doesn't match the sharpness Akira’s come to enjoy. “My apologies-- I merely wished to speak with Akira for a moment.”

Akira doesn’t really register what Morgana says because Akechi is approaching him, eyes locked onto his, and--

“You know, don’t you?” Hushed, yet his voice noticeably dips. “We have to discuss this.”

“You… remember?”

“That’s right, just like you seem to be… Come on.” He takes Akira’s hand and leads them outside and to the nearby laundromat. 

“Well then, let’s try to sort through this situation,” he says, letting go and turning to face him. In a daze, Akira watches Akechi’s lips move with each word. He doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything until Akechi snaps his fingers in his face.

“Joker, I need you to work with me.”

Akira blinks rapidly. “Joker?” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Was I that bad in bed?”

He hides his smile into his shoulder, satisfied at the brilliant red rising up Akechi’s neck. 

“Technically we never reached the bed. I didn't really give you a chance to-- Anyways, that’s besides the point,” Akechi says and crosses his arms. “Listen, _Akira_ , I need you to answer my questions.”

Akira takes his hand out of his pocket to rub at his neck. “Right. Sorry.” He notices Akechi’s eyes following his hand.

“You… take rather good care of that,” Akechi says.

“This?” Akira rotates his wrist to look at each black stroke forming the ace of spades. “I think Yusuke used a stronger ink than last time.”

He doesn’t get a response back. Akechi holds his chin with his hand, staring at him in thought. He missed that.

“Can I kiss you?” he says.

An emotion Akira can’t identify briefly flashes through Akechi’s eyes. “This is hardly the time,” Akechi says.

Though disappointed, Akira can admit he should focus on processing the irregularities of the past week instead. Irregularities that include Akechi appearing in front of him again.

He does really want to kiss Akechi still.

His phone rings while they’re recounting the events leading up to the present. Akechi gives him the go ahead to answer, seemingly unfettered until Kasumi’s voice comes through the speaker. Even with his eyes downcast, he can feel Akechi staring daggers at him.

No sooner did Akira hang up the call than does Akechi jump in to call his attention. “You’re planning to meet up with Yoshizawa, right? I’ll join you-- we’re all but guaranteed to find a clue there.”

“Sure,” Akira says, lips curling into a smirk.

“What is it?”

“You’re jealous.”

Akechi sputters and his voice loses that sharp edge just for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Forcing his expression to be neutral, Akira shrugs in an attempt at nonchalance. “Okay. I misunderstood. Let’s go.”

He turns and takes a step towards the exit, but a firm grip around his wrist tugs him back. The force of it surprises him, and he trips over his feet and falls into Akechi’s chest.

Before he can say anything, Akechi’s tilting his chin up and kissing him deeply. He sinks into it immediately. Groaning quietly at the light nibbles at his bottom lip, he brings up a hand to scratch at the base of Akechi's scalp.

The other hand he places on Akechi’s forearm to steady himself. A spark of warmth ignites from his palm and spreads to the rest of his body. It envelops him completely while he's wrapped up in Akechi’s arms.

They pull apart shortly. His cheeks burn from the warmth, and looking at Akechi’s deep blush, he realizes he isn’t the only one affected.

Entirely enamored, he leans in and pecks his glowing cheek. Akechi bats at him and says, “We shouldn’t keep Yoshizawa waiting.”

Some day he needs to tell Akechi what a terrible liar he is. Knowing the amusement is showing clearly on his face, he lets his mouth stretch into a wide grin. “Right.”

Akechi rolls his eyes and grabs his hand again to lead him to the train station. While usually so fussy about his appearance, he doesn’t bother to fix his hair or rumpled clothes the entire ride to Odaiba.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think it's best  
> We both forget  
> Before we dwell on it
> 
> The way you held me so tight  
> All through the night, till  
> It was near  
> Morning
> 
> -Love Love Love, Of Monsters and Men

Somehow, Akechi remains as flushed as he had been back in the laundromat. Coupled with his disheveled appearance, the unnatural redness of his cheeks and lips suggests debauchery beyond what they actually engaged in.

Kasumi’s smile is frozen, and she glances at Akira before looking at the ground, a blush of her own settling on her face.

Akira touches his cheek and feels the heat radiating off of it.

Oh.

While Akechi and Kasumi continue to talk about the palace, Akira tries to discreetly smooth out his clothes. It’s an effort wasted; Akira learns soon enough when Akechi looks back at him, eyes raking up and down his body, and smirks at what he sees.

“What’s your call?” he says after Kasumi asks to join them.

Surprised at Akechi’s choice to defer to him, Akira agrees instantly. He does believe the larger their number, the better chance they have of getting through the place unscathed, but the brief scowl that crosses Akechi’s face almost makes him second-guess the decision.

“That settles it!” Kasumi says, either none the wiser or very wisely ignoring Akechi’s irritation.

“All right,” Akechi says as if it’s painful for him to say. “Let’s do it.”

The palace interior is unlike any of the ones Akira’s infiltrated before. Each one had been unique to the target, but they had all provided some cover for the thieves as they traversed from one area to the other. Even in the recesses of another person’s mind, Akira had felt safe blanketed in the darkness.

Here, the white walls and floors make him, Kasumi, and Akechi stick out like sore thumbs. The pristine interior reflects everything and hides nothing. It’s unnerving.

They’re accosted by a shadow in a lab coat and are immediately deemed a threat.

“Yoshizawa-- you can do this, right?” Akechi says.

“Y-Yes… Ready whenever!” she responds.

“It’ll be too much trouble to go about this haphazardly. I’ll provide the support.”

He pauses, silent with concentration, and then--

Akira sucks in a sharp breath, feels his heart thud from the lack of oxygen, before he relaxes and relinquishes control over Loki. It takes another second or so for his breathing to return to normal. He glares at Akechi, who’s smiling in self-satisfaction.

“Could’ve just asked,” Akira says with a cough.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Akira is about to tell him exactly what they could do instead to have fun but remembers Kasumi is with them, currently looking between them with confusion, and keeps his mouth shut.

“Look at this scum pile up,” Akechi scoffs when another shadow joins the first. “Fine by me… Time for a bloodbath.”

They work well together, considering their last minute team-up. Kasumi covers their blind spots and holds her own despite not venturing the metaverse as much as Akira and Akechi have. Her careful approach is welcome, and helps balance out Akechi’s frenzied rage.

“Um… So I’ve only shared pleasantries with Akechi… Would you say this is how he normally is? Like a, ah… ruthless sort of person?” Kasumi says quietly after they take down the shadows.

“Just everyday Akechi,” Akira says, unable to hide the fondness in his voice.

He grins cheekily when Akechi retorts back at them. Remembering his fit of jealousy earlier, he steps away from Kasumi and maintains some distance from her for the rest of their venture in the palace.

It’s a decision he soon regrets when they confront Maruki. One moment she’s next to him, a reliable teammate to depend on, and the next she’s captured, a still form pliant in the enemy’s arms. Without her, they’re overwhelmed and losing health quickly.

“Joker!” Akechi yells when they’re both on the brink of collapsing. “I’m going to shut that thing up. Give me a hand!”

There’s a flash of red and Akechi yells maniacally, rushing at the shadow in a straight path without checking if Akira is following. 

Thankfully, relying on instinct alone is Akira’s forte.

He uses his grappling hook to zip after Akechi, sailing over him with his weapon ready. Adrenaline pumps into him and he twirls his dagger before driving it into what he hopes is the shadow’s weak spot.

It distracts it enough, makes it focus on him, rather than the obvious target cackling in front of it, so when Akira wrenches his dagger out and leaps off the shadow, it doesn’t notice Akechi until he’s already slashing away.

“Not bad for an improvised technique,” Akechi all but spits out once the shadow dissipates.

Half of Akira wants to be a responsible leader and admonish him for being reckless. The other half wants to see him go berserk again.

He doesn’t trust himself to listen to the responsible side, so he keeps his mouth shut. It isn’t until they’re back outside and Akechi’s about to walk off that he speaks again.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing Akechi’s arm, “let me help you.”

He feels like he’s burning, the remnants of running, vaulting, climbing, and fighting every which way suddenly transferring to his person outside the metaverse. The frigid air stings his cheeks as his heated skin wars with the contrast in temperature.

Akechi’s expression is carefully blank despite the matching blush rising on his face. It puts Akira off. Whether playing up his detective prince facade or spitting fire as Black Mask, Akechi was always brimming with emotion.

“What _you_ need to do is snap your friends out of this so-called perfect reality,” he says as he slowly peels Akira’s hand off of his arm. Posture stiff, he presses his mouth into a hard line. His entire body screams “stay away”, but his hand is still holding Akira’s.

His eyes dart down and he blinks hard, as if he doesn’t realize the hand belongs to him.

“I hate that we have to do what Maruki says, but we have no choice,” Akechi says and lets go. “I’ll meet you in a week’s time. I expect you’ll follow my suggestion?”

“Yeah… see you then.”

\--------------------------------------

Miraculously, after resigning to the idea that his friends were trapped, content to remain in Maruki’s false reality, they crash in guns and personas blazing to save him, Akechi, and Sumire. With his entire team back and willing to team up with Akechi, the idea of stopping Maruki becomes less daunting.

They’re making good progress in the palace, yet Akechi acts heavily guarded around everyone.

Akira isn’t surprised by his lone wolf shtick. He figured everyone would keep things diplomatic while maintaining some distance, considering their last encounter with Akechi consisted mainly of fighting each other to the brink of collapse. 

It’s when Akira’s usual teasing and flirting is met with frigid silence that he pulls him aside.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Akechi snaps. 

Akira frowns. He’s dealt with Akechi being short with him before, but the constant prickly attitude since they first infiltrated Maruki’s palace is starting to wear him down.

He lowers his voice. They don’t have much privacy with everyone piled in the safe room, but he wants to at least avoid broadcasting their conversation. “Every time you summon Loki, you’re holding your head like you’re in pain.”

If he hadn’t kept his full attention on Akechi, he would have missed the slight twitch of his jaw. He wants to run his fingers over the wrinkles in his brow, smooth them out so that he isn’t so tense. “We have time. Let’s call it a day.”

“Careful Joker, your friends will accuse you of favoritism.”

“As if you wouldn’t like that.”

Akechi stares him down, lips pulled into a vicious grin that’s all teeth. “I’m not leaving,” he says, pushing away from the lockers and drawing himself to full height. Akira bristles but stands his ground, staring back with the authority he’s come to wear like a second coat as Joker.

“Yes, you are. We’re all leaving. Now.”

Akechi doesn’t move and continues to stare at him with only a slight curve to his lip.

It's a cheap shot, but he adds, "I'll take Loki."

Akechi's arms jerk in place at that.

In the corner of his eye, Akira can see his friends watching, coiled like springs, ready to jump in and defend him if Akechi turns out to be dangerous after all.

While grateful for their instinct to protect him, he signals to them to stand down. They don’t know Akechi like he does.

There’s a second in which he, seeing Akechi lift one hand up, actually worries his instinct was wrong and that there might be a risk of getting his face clawed off, but Akechi just crosses his arms and slumps back against the lockers. 

“Fine then, _leader_ ,” he hisses, causing a shiver to crawl up Akira’s spine.

Once they’re back outside, Akira steps in Akechi’s path before he can stride away as he’s done each time they’ve dove into Maruki’s palace. “Come to lunch with us,” Akira says.

Akechi looks behind him at their group, half chatting amongst themselves and half glancing at them curiously. He turns back to Akira, smooths out his coat. “While I appreciate the invitation, my presence would likely be a deterrent for your friends.”

“Then it can be just with me.”

“Akira--”

“Please?”

Akechi’s eyebrows furrow more deeply. He looks at the ground and sighs. “I can’t.” He clears his throat. “Contact me the next time you enter the palace.”

Though it was the answer he expected, Akira can’t help being disappointed. “Always do.”

Akechi gives a jerky nod in response. He steps to the side, stops, and then leans in to press a soft kiss to Akira’s cheek.

Akira’s face burns when Akechi pulls away, giving him a full view of his friends. Luckily, they all, other than Ann and Ryuji, whose jaws have dropped in shock, were too engaged in conversation to have seen the affectionate act.

“Dude! When did--?” Ryuji starts, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“It’s complicated,” Akira says, rushing forward to cut him off before he says more. He glances at Haru, who smiles at him with a questioning tilt of her head, and then turns back to Ryuji. “Not now. I’ll tell you about it another time.”

Ryuji claps him on the back soundly. “I gotcha. Say no more!”

“Yeah!” Ann hooks her arm through Akira’s. “It’s, umm, totally nothing anyways. What are we, like, even talking about?”

Their attempts at covering up the incident garners more suspicion than not from the rest of the group, but, thankfully, the conversation quickly steers towards what restaurant they should go to.

\--------------------------------------

It’s several days later, at almost 3:00 A.M., when Akechi contacts him.

Akira blinks at his phone, unsure if he should respond. After having his invitations to meet declined over and over, he’d expected radio silence outside of Phantom Thieves business.

**Akechi:** Are you awake?

Akira checks the time at which the message was received again.

He is awake. He has, in fact, been awake for the last hour, woken up by the blare of a car alarm going off in the otherwise quiet, slow streets of Yongen-Jaya

Not wanting to get his hopes up and deciding that the message was sent to him by mistake, Akira places his phone on the windowsill and resumes his attempt at falling back to sleep.

His phone lights up again.

**Akechi:** You’re likely asleep. Ignore these messages when you see them in the morning.

Akechi should know by now that defiance has been Akira’s greatest motivator since before he even became a phantom thief.

A train ride later and Akira is face-to-face with Akechi, who manages to look like he walked out of a fashion magazine catalogue despite the odd hour. Akira’s tempted to reach out and ruffle his hair to give him a proper bedhead.

“You’re here,” Akechi says, as if he wasn’t the one to text Akira in the first place.

“I’m here.” Akira looks past his shoulder. Splashes of blue illuminate the enormous cream couch across the living room, as the T.V. provides the only source of light in the apartment.

Akechi still doesn’t move, eyeing Akira as if he’s a persistent salesman who has decided to disturb his otherwise quiet evening. Akira reminds himself that Akechi's the one who messaged him in the first place.

“Can I come in, or…?” he asks.

Akechi regards him coolly, then moves to the side. Akira takes off his shoes at the entrance and fumbles for the light switch. He flicks it on, and a hissing sound resonates through the hall.

When he looks over, Akechi is shielding his eyes with one hand and closing the door with the other.

“I would appreciate a warning,” he says with an overly dramatic frown.

Akira shrugs. “Anywhere I can hang my coat?”

Grumbling obscenities, Akechi snatches the apparent offensive article of clothing out of his hands and hangs it in a closet near the entrance. He heads for the living room without a word. Akira follows.

They end up on opposite ends of the couch, a conspicuously empty space between them. Akechi brings up his legs to sit with his knees up and crosses his arms over them. 

A rerun of some talk show plays on the T.V. It isn’t something Akira would picture Akechi enjoying. 

He’s starting to settle in when Akechi speaks up.

“How did you get here?”

“By train,” Akira murmurs, giving up on paying attention to whatever is on the screen.

“They can’t possibly still be running at this time.”

“Guess late night public transportation is part of a perfect reality.”

Akechi turns his head, hair spilling loosely over his arm, fondness softening his features. Desire creeps up in Akira once again. He wants to hold him in his arms, keep him there until he understands how much Akira cares for him.

But Akechi’s boundaries have become more confusing than Tokyo’s railway system, and Akira doesn’t know what would be considered crossing them at this point.

Akechi’s voice is soft, as if it’s an exhale carrying his thoughts out of him unintentionally, when he asks, “Do you remember when we went to mementos together?”

He does. It was the one time Akechi had agreed to join them when he had refused all other times before. Ryuji had been reluctant, suspicious of his motives, but had eventually caved in with the reasoning that it’d be a good way to get some insight into Akechi’s character. 

He hadn’t supported Akira’s attraction to Akechi exactly. He’d settled on tolerating it after minutes of frustrated yelling, with a simple “effing weird, but I won’t get in your business. Just don’t let him actually kill you”.

Not caring about Akira's lack of response, Akechi continues, “You said to that woman’s shadow, ‘You have your son’. As if that was all she needed to hear.”

“It was.”

Akechi eyes him warily. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time Akira’s seen him in lounge clothes, the top of his shirt unbuttoned so that his collarbones peek out and the cuffs of his sleeves undone, but there’s a fragility to him he’s never seen before. He looks as if he could shatter at a single touch, at a single breath.

His voice is a low hum. “Would it have worked on my mother, I wonder?”

Akira’s throat sinks to his stomach.

“You… her… always taking on the burden and letting others take advantage of you.”

“Goro--”

He stills when Akechi reaches a hand toward him and shivers as long fingers tuck his hair back gently, tracing the shell of his ear in the process.

“Why me?” Akechi whispers.

Akira swallows. Even his breathing feels obtrusive, loud.

With a sigh, Akechi pulls away. He turns off the T.V. and stands. “Come on. We should get some sleep. Do you remember where the guest bedroom is?”

“We could,” Akira says and then coughs, “if you want, I could join you?”

Akechi’s expression shifts into the one Akira can’t recognize. Each time it appears, Akira thinks he’s a little closer to deciphering what it means, but he still-- he still--

Akechi tugs at his sleeve. “I don’t… think that would be wise.”

“It’s not to-- We don’t have to do anything. I just want to be with you.” The words tumble out of Akira’s mouth, clumsy and too loud in the stillness of the apartment.

He’s overstepped the boundary; he realizes that too late when Akechi’s expression shuts down completely. “No,” Akechi says, more firmly. “I’m going to sleep.” A moment’s hesitation, then, “Good night.”

Akira looks down at his hands. “Okay. Good night.”

In the morning, Akira leaves without a word.

\--------------------------------------

The calling card wobbles in Akira’s hand. He flings it at the table before he loses his grip on it, too angry to pass it over to Maruki properly. “You forgot this,” he says, cold fury wrapping around his throat and tongue.

All this time, he’s been kept in the dark about Akechi’s state of being-- of un-being. While he had been racking his brain to figure out what he’d done to drive Akechi away, Akechi had been isolating himself in some half-assed attempt to make Akira accept his death more easily.

He feels numb.

A part of him panics when Morgana leaves them to speak in private. His fingers twitch in his aborted effort to tug him back to his side, desperate for the comfort of Morgana’s weight against him.

He slides out of the booth and stands up, hoping it will release some of his newly formed nervous energy. It doesn’t work, and he has to hold onto the bar counter as his entire body shudders.

They’re going to stop Maruki, their goal won’t change, but Akechi’s treating his life like it’s all some big joke, and Akira has already lost his soulmate once and he’s going to lose him again and it’s all wrong. Everything is wrong.

“This isn’t trivial!” Akira shouts, his outburst surprising Akechi and himself.

They’ve been dancing around the subject, he realizes, for so long that they’ve never voiced aloud exactly what they are to each other. “You’re my soulmate,” he says, almost stuttering on the word, “of course this isn’t easy for me.”

“Oh, spare me. You actually believe in such a childish fantasy?”

Akechi rolls up his left sleeve roughly, just enough to show the meticulous ‘joker’ on his forearm. He seizes Akira’s hand and places it on the inscription.

“This,” he hisses as heat blooms from their marks until they’re both flushed in the face, “is nothing. Another fabrication created by that therapist to fulfill your desires.”

His cheeks are still glowing when he lets go of Akira. “I’ve tried to wash this accursed thing off for weeks now. It’s been on me since Christmas Eve.”

“Those aren’t our soulmarks. You’ve seen what they actually are,” Akira says, rubbing his wrist.

“Is that so? I must have missed that little detail. Pray tell me, what they could possibly be.” A placid smile settles across his lips.

Every time he thinks Akira thinks they’re moving one step forward, Akechi pulls them back two steps. He tries to keep his voice steady. “Don’t act like you don’t know. We can share our personas like Makoto and Haru.”

“No, you took Loki from me! He listens to you because of your infuriating negotiation ability,” Akechi snarls, breaking the sickly sweet composure instantly and stepping into Akira’s space to grab his collar. He looks wild, beautiful, baring his teeth without restraint.

“I can only negotiate with personas from people who’ve passed on,” Akira says, breath quickening. “I never had to convince Loki to come to me. Loki wasn’t-- isn’t--”

“Shido was planning to kill me long before we’d even entered Sae’s palace. I was a dead man walking.” A hard shake that has Akira’s teeth clattering. “The ‘me’ you see now isn’t real. Akechi Goro is gone, Akira. It’s high time you accept that.”

He looks into Akira’s eyes, a sneer crawling steadily across his face. “You’re quite the charmer after all. You simply said things that reminded me of my soulmate.”

Akira wishes Akechi had just punched him instead.

Akechi has to be lying, has to be looking for ways to hurt him. His goal is to defeat Maruki and return to their reality. Akechi knows Akira’s hesitating and wants to hurt him enough so he can be convinced a world in which he’s still dead is preferable.

Akira knows Akechi has to be lying, but at the same time he doesn’t know if Akechi is lying.

“I want to hear you say it aloud,” Akechi says slowly. “What do you intend to do?”

He remembers the rush he had felt when he had first summoned Loki, how his heart had swelled at the idea that he was fated to be with Akechi. That his tendency to steal quick glances at him, the way his heart skipped every time he found him sitting at Leblanc, and the desire to impress him in a game of wits weren’t just a result of teenage infatuation.

The thought of Akechi’s attachment to him to be a fabrication is too much. He can't stand to be the reason that Akechi has no free will. He can’t stand to be the reason Akechi lives a life a shell of his former self.

“I won’t wait a moment longer. Answer me,” Akechi says and releases him, fists clenched at his sides.

Akira takes a breath. “We’re stopping Maruki,” he says, wincing at the way his voice shakes.

A genuine smile, the first one this entire conversation, appears on Akechi’s face. “All right. I’m relieved to hear it. I will never accept this form of reality. I’m done being manipulated.”

The rest of his words blur together, and before long, he’s heading out the door. Akira watches him, his shoulders broad and straight as he resolutely strides out of Leblanc, and lets him go.

\--------------------------------------

He’s steadied his hand enough to set a kettle on the stove by the time Makoto and Haru arrive.

“Oh, it’s much warmer inside,” Haru says as Makoto helps her take off her coat. She returns the gesture after she’s placed her scarf and hat on the coat rack. Once Makoto also has removed her jacket, Haru takes her hand and they approach Akira.

Her other hand reaches toward his cheek. He leans into it and closes his eyes, suppresses the tremors threatening to break free and course through his body.

Makoto touches his arm gently, “I’m sorry if I’m being presumptuous, but it is rather late for you to call us. Is there something bothering you?”

A bitter smile twists across his lips. “That obvious?”

They sit at one of the booths, Haru and Makoto on one side and Akira on the other, once he pours out tea for them. From the angle of their arms, he can tell that they’re holding hands under the table. It’s an easy affection he’s witnessed numerous times without a second thought-- now, it makes a chill run down his spine.

The times he and Akechi touched and kissed, the time they were intimate, were all results of the desires born from Akira’s whims-- manufactured longing he forced on Akechi.

“Akira?”

He looks up to see a pair of concerned eyes on him. He doesn’t realize he’s been digging his fingernails into his arm until Haru carefully pries his hand off. She covers it with her own soft hands.

“Akira,” Makoto says again, “please, tell us what’s wrong.”

His chest tightens. “I manipulated someone to be my soulmate.”

He’s met with silence for an agonizing amount of time. It could have been a few seconds, maybe a minute, maybe an hour.

“It’s about Akechi, isn’t it?” Haru asks.

He nods slightly, remembers that she had hoisted him into her arms with Makoto’s help and carried him out of Shido’s palace after he’d collapsed against the steel bulkhead. The memory of having his soulmate ripped away from him-- choking on air slicing against his throat like tiny knives with each breath-- wouldn’t leave him anytime soon.

Her fingers, so gentle and thin despite the strength she’d shown, rub over his knuckles as she stares past his shoulders with pursed lips. “Do you want to be with him?"

Akira hesitates. He hadn’t known how to bring up his connection to Akechi before. He hadn’t wanted to risk losing her friendship. But he can’t lie. She already knows the answer anyways.

“Yeah. I wanted to before I knew he was my soulmate.”

Before he had inadvertently made him his soulmate, his brain unhelpfully reminds him.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “Why are you apologizing?” she says.

“I… because, Akechi…” he trails off, confused at her reaction. 

She smiles, albeit sadly. “Akira, I may have not forgiven him, but I can understand his circumstances.” She squeezes his hand. “Is he important to you?”

Akira swallows and nods. He doesn’t trust his voice to not crack.  
  
“I know you wouldn’t be flippant with your affections. I trust you,” Haru says.

Makoto shifts, places a hand on top of theirs. “You’ve been there for us, of course we’ll be here for you… and for Akechi. He’s our teammate now.”

The tension seeps out of his body. Though it had pretty much been an open secret, he’d thought his relationship with Akechi would be a topic his friends would all decidedly choose not to acknowledge.

“How did you know you were soulmates? Did you feel something when you touched each other?” he asks.

“When Haru and I first felt our personas interact... where was it?” Makoto says, tapping at her chin.

“It was when you lifted me over one of the cranes in the palace!”

“Yes, that’s right. I felt light, almost weightless. Did you as well?”

Haru nods excitedly, her hair bouncing with the motion. “As if I was floating on clouds.” She turns to Akira. “What did it feel like for you?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he recalls the unpleasant sensation he’d experienced. “Kind of painful honestly. It felt like I was being burned and frozen at the same time.

Makoto holds her chin with her hand. It’s painfully reminiscent of Akechi’s signature pose. “Then, wouldn’t the fact you felt something mean you are soulmates?”

“Go-- Akechi,” he corrects himself but feels his face heat up regardless, moreso when he hears Haru’s tinkling laugh, “can’t summon Arsene though. I might have persuaded Loki to join me.” Though the statement comes out easily, the idea still rattles him.

He had responded to Loki’s voice, a sinister version of Akechi’s, in his head without hesitation when he had spoken to him. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t stopped to think about whether his negotiation ability had gotten more powerful and had started recruiting personas before weakening them first.

“That doesn’t sound right,” Makoto says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “We asked you to try using our personas, do you remember?”

The realization hits him like a brick.

“It... didn’t work,” he says.

“It didn’t work,” she confirms, flipping her hair back. “Now, before Haru and I have to leave, we should discuss strategies for tomorrow.”

Akira smiles. “Good idea.”

\--------------------------------------

He’s not avoiding Akechi.

As the Phantom Thieves’ leader, Akira listens to every input his teammates have and doles out commands that optimize their strengths in battle. Any arguments or bad blood are left behind in the real world once they enter the metaverse. It’s an unspoken agreement they’ve followed since Morgana’s temporary departure from the team.

So he’s not avoiding Akechi, but he’s not exactly going out of his way to talk to him either.

They work in tandem, downing any shadows they aren’t able to sneak past with lightning fast efficiency, and make a beeline for Maruki.

The lab coat ensemble had been bad enough, with its whole mad scientist aesthetic, but the white and gold monstrosity of an outfit is on a new level of absurdity, distancing him further and further from the counselor he’d come to trust. His same placating tone sounds entirely out of place coming out of that tube of a helmet.

“I hoped you would understand,” Maruki says.

Akechi scoffs immediately. “You spent months with him and really believed he’d fold so easily? He isn’t some weakling to underestimate.”

It isn’t the highest praise, if at all. Nonetheless, Akira revels in the words.

“There’s nothing weak in accepting a better life with your desires granted. You can accept your happiness too, Akechi,” Maruki says.

“You actually think I’d be grateful to be brought back like some sort of puppet? Don’t insult me. There’s nothing you can offer me.”

Maruki’s gaze shifts from Akechi to Akira, and then a searing heat forms in Akira’s right hand. Akira shakes his wrist on instinct and rips his glove off, half expecting it to be on fire, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Only the intricate ace of spades on his hand, appearing as freshly inked as the day Yusuke first drew it.

“It looks like Akira’s soulmark is on his hand,” Maruki says, attention back on Akechi. “Has yours not materialized on your arm? I was sure I replicated both of them from your memories. I’m sorry for that oversight, but I truly intended to fulfill your wish as well.”

Akira’s heart thuds in his ears. He looks over to see Akechi gone unnervingly still. “Goro…” he says and trails off, unsure of what to say next.

“Don’t,” Akechi says, voice so quiet that Akira has a brief moment wondering if he imagined him speaking.

Akechi draws his sword. “The Phantom Thieves don’t kill, fine.” A persona Akira has never seen before appears in a whirlpool of blue flames behind him, triggering a rasping voice to fill his head.

_Scorn those who have taken advantage of the innocent and the naive._

“But, I won’t guarantee I’ll let him leave in one piece.”

The rasping voice grows louder, more insistent, and pounds through his skull.

_Let them cower under your true power!_

“Stick to the plan. We have to work together,” Akira says, blinking hard at the sudden spell of dizziness.

He receives a grunt in response. Better than nothing.

Akira looks behind him and sees his team with their personas summoned and weapons armed. He nods, puts his glove back on and adjusts it so it fits snugly.

On his signal, they disperse and take their positions.

He places his hand on his mask, feels his pulse race as the flames flare and lick at his skin as he summons Arsene.

“It’s showtime.”

\--------------------------------------

He’s exhausted, beaten down to the last of his energy reserves, and Maruki’s dead weight isn’t helping. The crystal flooring is slippery. He can’t get any sort of grip on it and is sliding steadily toward the edge with each second.

Light shines down on him, and he makes the mistake of looking up. His fingers lose their grip on Maruki’s hand as he does so, and he registers the loss of weight a bit too late. He pitches forward blindly in alarm, falling after him when he overshoots the distance.

There’s shouting above him, but the wind in his ears make the words indiscernible.

Maruki is close, if he reaches out just a bit more, then he could grab him again. But he doesn’t have his grappling hook and he doesn’t have the energy to summon a persona. He has to think, think, think--

His rapid thoughts are interrupted by a loud cry.

“Arsene!”

His body offers no resistance, stamina long since depleted from the battle earlier. He breathes out one second, and in the next a familiar, domineering presence is beside him, clutching onto him tightly around his stomach.

He looks up dazedly at the persona he’s come to know and trust since entering the metaverse. Unique to him. Controlled only by him.

Until this moment.

A sudden weight forces Arsene to lurch to the side, jostling Akira uncomfortably. Black and blue stripes fill his vision.

“Go, Hereward. Save that vermin before I change my mind,” Akechi growls. At the command, Hereward bursts behind him and flies down to Maruki. 

Once he catches him, Akechi loosens his grip from Arsene’s shoulder to drop into his waiting hand and directs his ire at Akira.

“You idiot! Every single time with your self-sacrificial bullshit! I swear--”

The only thing preventing Akira from calling out Akechi’s hypocrisy is his overwhelming desire to kiss every inch of exposed skin on his face.

“You’re my soulmate,” he gasps out eventually and cradles Akechi’s cheeks in his hands. “You’ve always been.”

He pulls away, just a bit, and feels his heart pounding. Framed by Arsene, evidence of their connection, their bond, Akechi’s glowing red face has never looked more gorgeous.

He leans in again, but Akechi says, “Your asshole therapist is right there.”

Twisting as much he can in Arsene’s grip, Akira looks down at Hereward. He huffs in amusement seeing Maruki pointedly turning his head in the opposite direction despite already facing downwards, slung over Hereward’s shoulder.

He turns back to Akechi. “We had a fist fight on top of a crystal palace. I think I’m past social norms with him at this point.”

This time, Akechi doesn’t protest when he leans in. His lips are soft and warm, fitting perfectly against his. Akira presses his forehead into Akechi’s once they separate.

“This will only make things harder for you,” Akechi mutters.

Akira sighs and closes his eyes as a brilliant white light envelops them.

“I know.”

\--------------------------------------

On his last day, Akira makes sure to see everyone before he goes. Every goodbye ends with promises to stay in touch and a small gift pressed into his hands. Since he’s packed the majority of his things in boxes shipped to his parents’ address, his bag has just enough space to fit everything he receives.

He finds a spot next to a window and sets his bag on the seat next to him. Morgana pops out, nose wiggling in discontent, once Akira unzips the main pocket.

“Argh, have you ever tried laying down on a pile of your stuff? I promise you it isn’t comfortable!” he yowls.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I’d get so many things.” Akira laughs and smooths down Morgana’s fur.

Morgana huffs and climbs out, settling on the seat and scrutinizing Akira without blinking.

“Akira,” he says eventually.

“Hmm?”

“In your bag… I saw a black glove. It’s his, isn’t it?”

Akira doesn’t respond, choosing to stare out the window instead. He’s already starting to miss Tokyo-- the sights, the sounds, his friends, Leblanc.

His home.

“Akira?”

He turns back to Morgana.

“I’m-- I won’t say that I’m alright, because I’m not. I…” He breathes in deeply, exhales.

It hadn’t hurt like it had in Shido’s palace. Returning to their true reality without Akechi hadn’t felt like he was being torn apart or like the air was rushing out of his lungs.

It hadn’t felt like anything. Like Arsene, he was just.

Gone.

If Akira were to be honest, he thinks feeling some kind of pain, any kind of pain, would have been better. It at least wouldn’t have left him feeling utter emptiness.

He’s not okay. He probably won’t be for a while.

Morgana jumps onto his lap and curls into a circle, purring gently. He stays in place even as the train disembarks from the station. Careful to not disturb him, Akira switches his phone to silent as he scrolls through the messages he’s received since boarding the train.

After he’s read through and responded to the streams of well-wishes and encouragement, he scrolls down until he reaches the last thread of messages he exchanged with Akechi. His thumb hovers over the ‘A.’ icon and the preview attached to it, a message he received in the middle of the night after they gave Maruki the calling card.

**Akechi:** We’re taking our fate into our own hands. Don’t look back.

Akira puts his phone to sleep and tucks it into his pocket.

As the scenery out the window changes from a metropolitan landscape to lush flora and fauna, he rubs his eyes, takes off his glasses, and hooks them onto the collar of his shirt. 

He’s not okay, but in time, he will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@wingdinger8](https://twitter.com/wingdinger8) (>ω^)


End file.
